


Ripper

by Lilsi



Category: The Bill (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, Mentions of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:15:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24181939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsi/pseuds/Lilsi
Summary: Des leaves Luke wondering the streets of London when Jack the Ripper is loose.
Kudos: 3





	Ripper

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was once posted at Craiggilmore.co.uk a fan site no longer active, so to preserve this story and others, I am importing them to AO3. I did not want the loss of such a large amount of amazing and wonderful fanfiction, it would be such a waste to fans of Craig Gilmore and Luke Ashton to not have the opportunity to enjoy these stories as i have. Since the site is no longer active i have been unable to contact the creators but if you happen to be them under a new pen name and want the fiction to be removed please send me a note!
> 
> Story written by - Baxter

London, November 9th, 1888

Craig lost his temper and shouted, “You did what?”

“I told him to go on his own,” Constable Taviner replied. “Don’t know why you’re so narky. I’m feeling poorly – you know that – and he’ll be right. There’s Bobbies everywhere. And the Ripper’s not going to get Ashton, for God’s sake.”

“You’re a fool and an imbecile, Taviner,” Sergeant Gilmore, the first Welsh Sergeant to serve at Aldwych Police station, tells him. “Constable Ashton is an inexperienced officer and not familiar with this area. You had no right to let him leave the station alone. If anything happens to him I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“Oh, Sarge – ”  
“THAT”S ALL,” Gilmore says. “You go home if you’re feeling poorly. I’ll go look for Ashton myself.”

*********************

Constable Luke Ashton, three months in the force, is walking the streets of Whitechapel at ten past twelve in the evening. The streets are glossy blue black with rain; the stench of beer, smoke, urine, cats and horses hangs heavily in the cold night air.

Taviner was right – there are Bobbies everywhere, and a number of armed civilians who have been on the streets since the first murders started in August.

Still, it’s creepy. Ashton pulls the heavy woollen collar of his coat up further around his neck; his boots, handmade by a London bootmaker, are still stiff even after three months and a slight blister on his left heel is rubbed as he walks.

He stops down near the back of Millers Court and stares the length of the street, shiny and oddly defined in the orange glow of gaslight. It is deserted. Ashton can see small sparks of rain falling lightly through the light of the lamps; he jumps a little when he hears some ugly noise only twenty yards from where he is standing. Millers Court, he thinks. He’s walked this beat before with Sergeant Gilmore.

Millers Court. Prostitutes lived there.

Ashton walks carefully down to the source of the noise and reaches a small two story stone building that sits flush on the corner. At the moment he arrives a tall man in a luxurious black silk and wool cape and a grand topper walks out of the little building; he passes inches from the surprised constable and stares him squarely in the face.

“Evening, Sir,” Ashton says, a little surprised, a little embarrassed.

“Constable,” the gentleman says politely, his voice rich, calm, eloquent, educated. As he passes Ashton he seems to pass something over the young copper’s face, something thin and cold, and the gesture is so unexpected Ashton doesn’t even register it for a couple of seconds. By the time Luke realises the stranger touched him somehow, the regal gentleman has boarded his carriage and left the street.

“Constable Ashton!” a voice calls behind him, and Ashton turns around, woken from his shock by the sound of Sergeant Gilmore’s voice.

“Sir, sorry, I was – ”

“What happened to your face, man?” Gilmore says as he reaches him, and when Ashton doesn’t understand the question Gilmore gingerly dabs the place the stranger touched and shows Luke his wet bloodied fingertips.

“Oh my God,” Luke says, “Oh, dear God.”

It was too awful to contemplate.

“In there,” Ashton says, “He was in there – ”

The two police officers walk around to the front of the decrepit building and stand at the window, at which a coat, old and stinking, hangs in lieu of a curtain.

“Hold this,” Gilmore says, handing Luke a small gaslamp, and he pulls the shield away.

The shredded remnants of Mary Kelly lay bloodied and disgusting before them, pieces of gore and organ still damp in her long strawberry gold hair.

Neither man can speak for several minutes, the scene is so atrocious.

“Ripper,” is all Gilmore says to break their silence.

“I saw him,” Luke tells him. “I saw him, Sir, I saw his face.” 

Gilmore stares at him, demanding with no words.

Ashton leans in and whispers the name of the man he saw.

“Are you certain?” Gilmore is deeply troubled by Ashton’s news.

“Positive, Sir.” Ashton is shaking, his voice unsteady. “I saw the carriage. I saw, I saw the coat of arms. I saw him clear as I can see you. He did this.”

A shudder runs through the sergeant. Young Ashton. Anything could have happened.

“I’m giving you the keys to my lodgings now. I want you to go there immediately. Don’t talk to anyone. Keep your face down. I’ll be home later.”

“Sir, I – ”

“Just go, Constable. You know where I live. Go now.”

And when Ashton is out of sight Gilmore blows his police whistle and draws the attention of all of London to the Ripper’s fifth victim.

********************* 

“If you say anything, to anybody, you will rock an Empire,” Gilmore says plainly to the younger man much later that night. They are eating crumpets and drinking hot tea together in the Sergeant’s very modest rooms.

Ashton nods. “But he has to be stopped, Sir, we can’t…” And he remembers the cold point dragging across his cheek, the look in the eyes of the man’s face. The woman he mutilated, the filthy, pathetic room in which she lived. Her pretty hair, splashed lavishly with blood.

“I can see to that,” Gilmore says softly. “I can mention it to the right people quickly, and the person in question can be committed, and out of harms way for the rest of his life, very soon. But it can never be public knowledge. You understand that, don’t you?”

Ashton nods again, the shock and fear still rushing through him.

“I understand.”

“I’m glad you’re safe.” Gilmore says, looking down. It’s all he can say, the only indication he can give this young man of the horrible fears he had tonight when he searched the streets looking for him.

“I’m glad it was you who found me,” Ashton replies. And that’s all he can say. Anything else, caving in to anything else, was unthinkable.

It hung between them for a while, the tension that was always there, the affection, the straining desire for something more, made all the worse for knowing that it could never be at all.

“It’s late,” Ashton says. It was hard to be around the Sergeant at times like this.

Gilmore stood up, weary, nodding. “You can stay here if you want. There’s room on the sofa, or you can sleep in my bed if you want.” Again he looked down, saying nothing.

“Thanks, Sir. Thanks. I will. I still feel so shaken up.”

“I know. You should sleep, and I’d feel easier knowing where you are until that gentleman is off the streets. He will be after tomorrow, I can assure you.”

Gilmore leaned over and touched the red line on Luke’s face again with dry, gentle fingers, wincing a little at the mark there.

“You’re safe here with me,” he said, his fingers lingering.


End file.
